


Remember How My Body Tastes

by thispieceofmind



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: AU, Dirty Talk, M/M, Masturbation, Riding, Stripper, Stripper AU, stripper!Louis, top!Louis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-18
Updated: 2013-01-18
Packaged: 2017-11-26 00:05:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/644393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thispieceofmind/pseuds/thispieceofmind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry goes to a strip club and is just a <i>little</i> desperate for Louis to fuck him. </p>
<p>
  <i>"And his hips are slowing with the beat and when the song is over he tips his head back again and blows a kiss, waist swaying when he walks off stage. Harry’s addicted." </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Remember How My Body Tastes

Harry is surrounded by smooth gold. It’s everywhere. It’s all his eyes can follow. He’s intoxicated by it. 

Now, Harry isn’t really one for strip clubs. He thinks they’re tacky and grungy and kind of gross. Most of the people who show up are old men with potbellies and cougars, so really, it isn’t his scene. But Niall had grabbed his arm and forced him out of their flat because apparently he had been “moping” – _whatever_ – around the flat and wallowing in his self pity. When he had raised a brow and replied indigently, Niall waited for a rebuttal. After nothing came, Harry lets himself be dragged out (after a necessary change out of sweatpants).

So now, he’s staring up at a stage, and he finds that all he wants to do is _touch_. Now, don’t get him wrong, Harry’s a _firm_ believer in love, but he also believes in tanned skin and fucking _excellent_ bums in tight little hot pants that leave all too much to the imagination. He isn’t complaining. There is a lad up on that stage, and Harry hasn’t taken his eyes off of him since he walked in. There’s probably something ridiculous wrong with him like drool on his chin or his mouth agape, but this guy is fucking grinding on a pole with absolutely no shame, his head tipped back a bit so the smooth, tan column of his neck was exposed, calfs wrapped around the base of the pole so it’s only his biceps keeping him upright, full and thick and fucking _delicious_. Harry can’t take his eyes off of him. 

He looks smooth all over, and he can tell by the song winding down that it’s almost the end of his performance, and he can’t believe he missed the whole first half of his. He missed him fully dressed, he missed his voice, he missed his fucking name! And his hips are slowing with the beat and when the song is over he tips his head back again and blows a kiss, waist swaying when he walks off stage. 

Harry’s addicted. 

***

Harry bothers Niall the entire rest of the week about going back and finding out times when certain people perform, and Niall gives him this shit eating grin that he’s not being a depressed fuck anymore, so they look up times of the club’s website and find that every stripper has a picture on the sight, and when Harry reads the name _Louis Tomlinson_ out loud, he can’t help but note how nice it sounds coming off his lips. He also titters at his stripper name, which isn’t _terrible_ , but it could be better. On Saturday, he’s going to see Luscious Lou. 

***

Louis goes on at nine, and Harry’s sure to be prompt. He can’t miss this. He needs to see the fabric fall from his skin. He’s aching to see his thighs press up against the silver of the pole. He _needs_ it. He needs to touch. He’s just not sure how to make it happen. 

He opts for right by the stage this time, sitting at a table with a beer in front of him, but he’s not touching it. He’s watching the stage, waiting. And it seems like an agonizingly long time before a voice from backstage is on a microphone and is announcing “Luscious Lou” and Harry sits forward in anticipation. He hears Niall laughing at him in the back of his mind, but the music is starting and he hears the foot steps of his bare feet padding across the black marble of the stage, and he can’t bring himself to care. There are lights illuminating him, and Harry thinks, for a moment, he might just glow on his own, with skin like that. 

He’s got a smirk on when he walks out, and Harry wants to bite it off him. Other places, he thinks, too. And he’s only wearing a tight little shirt that shows off all the pretty muscles of his stomach and his arms and his hot pants. He’s not even wearing any trousers, and Harry wonders what it would be like to get him out of those dainty little things. He wants to know what it would he like to get pushed up against a wall by him and have his hands on his arms and his stomach and his arse and his cock. 

Louis is looking straight forward as he meets his pole, winking at the crowd of people at the tables and bar. He bites his lip as he slides down the pole for the first time, biceps pulling, and legs wrapping around it. His inner thigh runs along the smooth surface of the pole, and he grins a bit, biting down on his lip and letting it snap back in place after he sucks it into his mouth. He’s got this color that makes Harry wants to kiss and touch and lick. He’s dark and shiny, and Harry thinks that he’s possibly the most gorgeous man he’s ever seen. 

He reaches up to pull of his shirt, one leg still wrapped around the pull at the back of the knee, and he peels it off his skin, slowly, sensually. The tight material clings to him as he reaches up to pull it over his head, the red of it complimenting his skin just as nicely as the black of his pants do. His biceps looked even more gorgeous once it was off. Harry stared at his torso. It was toned and smooth and it made Harry want to trail his tongue all the way up him. He wanted to bite above his naval and lick down the little trail of hair that led _downdowndown_. Louis’ hips are thin but there, unlike him who’s literally all straight, and he wants to put his hands there and never let go. He’s got his shirt in between the tips of two of his fingers and he scans the crowd for a moment as he moves his hips to the beat and grinds against the pole. He throws in Harry’s direction who catches it without a beat, and he thinks that maybe Louis might’ve winked at him. 

Harry takes a deep breath and leans on the edge of the stage. Louis moves forward on the stage that’s shaped like a T and basically has a runway that juts out into the room. He finds his way to the pole at the edge of the runway (oh yeah, there’s _two_ ) and shimmies down it, foot hooking and neck stretching back. His back arches and his muscles look beautiful from this angle, the way Harry can see it. He sees little dimples and sharp shoulder blades, and that perfect, perfect bum. He slinks back up, shooting a smirk at Harry as he twirls around the pole, small but strong hands gripping as he moves, and he bends forward, his arse to the other side but his face right up in front of Harry’s. He sees how beautifully blue his eyes are. Harry wants him. He wants him _bad_. And he wants him soon. Louis winks at him again (and he’s not making it up this time. It’s for real) and Harry has to shed his button down. He’s hot all over. 

Louis runs his hands up his legs and touches his own toned stomach, and closes his show with a retreat back to the first pole, a few more grinds and twists, and stops when he bends all the way back on the pole so his hands are on the ground and his feet are holding him up. He finds his way back up again, thighs straining as they pull him up with interlocked feet and leaves again with another blown kiss and wink. 

Harry’s breathing a lot heavier when he’s finished. When he goes home, he gets his hand on his cock to a guy he’s never met. He comes in his hand with a faint cry of, “ _Louis_.” 

***

He goes back the next week. And he shows up even earlier. He sits at the bar, and jumps when he feels a breath on his ear. “Shit,” he breathes. When he turns around, his breath is caught in his chest. Louis. 

“Sorry, mate! Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Oh, no. It’s fine. You just caught me a bit off guard, I guess.” 

“Well, sorry about that. I just saw you sitting here alone, and I recognized you from the past couple weeks, and I thought I’d come say hello.” 

“Oh,” Harry stammers, and he’s gone a bit red. “Well, that’s erm, very nice of you.”

He doesn’t realize he’s staring until he gets this look from Louis, up and down, and he blushes harder, looking down at his lap. Louis takes a seat next to him at the bar. “So what’s your name, babe?”

He internally squeals at _babe_ , and murmurs as smoothly as he can, “Harry Styles. And you’re Louis, correct?”

“The one and only.” They share a brief smile, or rather, Louis is smirking and Harry’s grinning like an idiot. And Louis stands, just like that – Harry’s few wonderful moments gone in a blink of an eye. He pats Harry’s thigh, and pokes his cheek where his dimple would be. “I’ve gotta go, y’know. Stage calls me.”

“Yeah,” Harry breathes. “Yeah, okay.”

“Enjoy the show!” Louis says with a sly wink, and he parts just as Harry mutters, “Trust me, I will”

And _god_ , he does. The next two shows he attends goes as follows. Louis will say a few words in passing, touch him – just a little, on the face, the arm, the thigh – and then he’ll leave, going backstage to change into those little pants and walk back out for everyone to see, unlike those few moments where he feels like Louis is all his. When his skin is on fire, and he finds it just a little hard to breathe, but then he slips between his fingertips and manages to wrap himself around everyone else. Harry wants Louis to want him back. He doesn’t know if he already does. 

He’s not ignored on stage completely, no. Louis will tease him, bend over the edge of the stage to give everyone else and give a nice little pet to his face of his hair, or he’ll move his hips in his direction, grind with their eyes locked. But it’s nothing more, it’s just giving Harry more of a show. Making him want more. Making him _need_ more. And Harry needs it. He does. 

So the next week, he’s getting anxious. He’s getting tired of his right hand and his own fingers up his arse. He wants to be _fucked_. He wants to be _owned_. And he wants Louis to be the one who does it. After the show that week, Louis being _extra_ teasing, sliding just that much more gracefully. Making everything _hotter_. Making Harry _need_ it more. And after that little performance, Louis purposely grabbed his shirt off the ground to show Harry his cute little arse. Harry wanted to kill him. (And kiss him.)

He manages to sneak backstage, and really, it’s not all that hard. There’s a door by the restrooms that says authorized personnel only, and once he pushes it open it was just bunch of strippers hanging out in shirts and bras and tiny pants. Casually. Louis’ eyes snap up at his entrance, and he raises an interested brow. “I’m afraid that this is authorized personnel only, Harry.”

“Well, you can either make me authorized, or we can take this somewhere else, if you’d like?”

“I’ll go with the latter, actually. See you around, guys,” he calls to his friends. Colleagues, whatever. He walks towards Harry and let a light hand trail down his arm, and then grasps his wrist, pulling him outside the room and pressing him up against a wall. “What is it, Styles?” 

Harry smirks just a little, but lets nothing get to his head. He reaches into his back pocket and grabs the red shirt that had been hanging out of it the entire night. “I believe this is yours?”

Louis’ smirk is far larger than his. “Oh, Harry, that was, hm… how should we put it – a _strip club warming gift_.” He takes it from Harry’s hand, folds it up, and slips it right back into his back pocket, giving his bum a pat just for good measure. “Is that all?”

“Fuck you,” Harry scowls, and he’s not completely seriously, he’s just teasing at Louis’ snide. 

“I could,” Louis says. Harry scowls. “Don’t frown, Haz. It doesn’t suit you.”

Before Harry can stop himself he mutters, “You suit me.”

Louis laughs, but not coldly. “I could,” he repeats. “But kiss me first, and then I’ll see what I can do about fucking you. Maybe I’ll take you back to my flat. We’ll see.”

Harry whines in the back of his throat and lets Louis take control right away. He winds his hands in his curls and slams his head against the wall. Louis stands on his tip toes to reach Harry’s mouth, but Harry lends down and as soon as their lips connect, Harry feels on fire. He feels like he’s as hot as the tan of Louis’ skin, and just like before all he can think is that he wants _more_. He always wants more with Louis. Louis sucks on Harry’s bottom lip after letting their mouths glide together for a moment, and Harry lets out a little moan, just barely audible, and Louis draws away teasingly. Always teasingly, and comes back in, licking and curling his tongue into his mouth and fingers tugging in his soft, pretty curls, letting themselves be slick and fast and hot. 

***

They go back to Louis’ flat. And as Harry predicted, it’s beautiful. There probably would have been a lot more to admire if he hadn’t had a hard on in his jeans and a very pretty boy pushing him up against a door and telling him that he’s hot. Harry can only chant back the same. Louis gets tired of leaning up and Harry gets tired of leaning down, so he scoops him up and at first, Louis is squirming, wanting to be control, but Harry is still putty in his hands, smooth against his mouth and letting him lick into his mouth and curl around his tongue and swipe with a lick across his bottom lip. He lets Harry touch his bum, and he kneads at it and grinds into Louis’ hip a little bit, and he lets him. He doesn’t mind. He thinks Harry’s a good lad, tall and long and pretty. 

He tells Harry which way the bedroom is, and as soon as they’re walking in that direction, he reminds him, “Just remember, Harry, I don’t put a show on for just anyone.” Harry shudders. 

***

He’s got Harry naked and on the bed, and he’s parading around in his little hot pants, and Harry’s staring, _panting_ with three fingers on him, and he’s fucking himself in earnest, fingers twisting and scissoring and he’s making all this noise that Louis really, really likes. So Louis takes off his pants and lays next to him, breathing heavily in his ear, “Keep fucking yourself with your fingers, babe, I’ve got to give you some _color_.” And he latches his mouth to Harry’s pretty white skin and bites down hard, sucking and laving his tongue and pressing kisses up and down the column of his throat. He blows air on the mark that he’s making, and Harry shivers hard, hair standing up on his arms and Louis grins, breathing against his ear and whispering against it, “You’ve got such nice skin, Harry. Looks so pretty with these marks on it.”

“You-you’ve got nicer skin. All tan and smooth,” he chokes out. 

“Well,” Louis breathes in his ear, licking a stripe against the shell. “Maybe I’ll let you touch it while you’re riding me.”

“Please,” Harry whines, and Louis attaches his mouth to his collarbone, how they stick out and all sharp against his chest. Louis makes a mark there too, biting down to see the blood vessels pop so his skin is such a nice pallet of colors. The way he likes it. He presses kisses down his chest. 

“That’s it, love,” Louis murmurs. “Keep fucking yourself. Yeah.” Harry whines hard and Louis shushes him with a soft kiss. “You look good like this, Harry.” 

Harry clenches his pretty green eyes shut for a moment, fingers still twisting in and out of his body, and he moans high with Louis rubs his thumb around the rim where his fingers are sliding in and out of his body. He lays back with his finger there, other hand grabbing the lube that Harry had carelessly left next to him and a condom off the bedside table, rolling it on and slicking up his cock. Harry’s dick is against his stomach, flushed and red and dribbling precome. He knows not to touch. He won’t. 

“You ready, love?” Louis asks. 

“Fuck,” Harry mutters. “Yeah.” And he wants this. He wants it so _bad_. He wants to be able to touch Louis’ pretty smooth skin and feel his cock splitting him open and press his fingers into the bruises that were all over him the next day. He winces when he pulls his fingers out of himself, but straddles Louis’ waist anyway, and Louis hands immediately settle on his waist as he grasps Louis’ cock and lowers himself down until he’s fully sheathed, arse settled snuggly against Louis’ hips. “Fuck,” he says. 

“Does it feel nice?” Louis asks, and he presses his fingers into Harry’s sharp hips. For an instant, he wishes he left marks there, too. Maybe his thumbs will do the job. “Does my cock feel nice in your tight little arse?”

“Yeah, Lou,” he chokes out.

“So move. Fuck yourself.”

He rocks his hips, slow at first. His hips move in little figure eights, and he can feel the burning sting where Louis’ hands are pressed into his hips, where he’s on fire. He pulls himself off of Louis’ cock and slams himself down, tipping his head back with a silent scream when the pleasure tears though him, like fire through his veins and on his skin where Louis has begun to move his hands up his chest, and he knows his hips have bruises now. He can feel the fire lingering. Louis fucks back up into him, their hips moving together as Harry lifts up and slams back down again, 

“Come on then, Harry, _touch me_ while you ride me. You said you wanted to. I want you to feel on _fire_.”

“Fuck, yeah. Kiss me first, please.”

So Louis runs his nails down Harry’s back and makes sure to leave marks as Harry’s hips are still moving, and he pulls on Harry’s sweaty hair for their lips to meet in a kiss, mouths breathing hot and heavy into each other, tongues licking across each other. Harry’s hot. He’s very, very hot. He keeps fucking himself on Louis’ cock, but his hands travel down his biceps and grip, feeling the muscles ripple as he grips Harry’s thighs. He touches his intricate collarbones and the stubble on his face and kiss him again. He runs his hands down Louis’ chest and flicks a nipple just to see him jerk. He kisses down his neck and presses into his shoulders. And Louis is very, very hot too. 

“Fuck, Harry,” Louis mutters. “You look good like this. You like fucking yourself on my cock?” Harry nods, sweaty curls bobbing as he leans into to kiss Louis again. Louis lets him, but asks, “Tell me what you feel.”

He can’t say anything for a while, he keeps fucking himself on his Louis’ cock and touching everywhere, everywhere he can reach and touch. And he keeps kissing him and whining into his mouth, and loving the feeling when Louis presses into his bruises and into his neck and collarbones and when he scrapes down Harry’s back so he can _feel_ the red that’s there. So he can practically see it. And it burns, like it would when he’s on fire. It’s how he feels, surrounded by Louis and tanned skin and warm limbs and _heat_. 

And Louis chanting at him, “C’mon, Harry. Tell me how you feel, babe.”

So Harry takes a deep breath, and he’s still slamming his hips down onto Louis’ cock, angling just right and letting everything shoot through him, and he’s pumping his cock, too. “Fuck,” he lets out. And when he comes, shooting all over Louis’ stomach and his hand, he’s screaming, “I feel on fire.”


End file.
